


Unconventional Needs

by Romiress



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Fisting, Humans are not, Kryptonians are ABO, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-08 17:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Brucereallyisn't prepared for what Clark needs during a heat. The fact that he didn't even know Clark could gointoheat is a whole other conversation he's not ready for.





	Unconventional Needs

Bruce knows something's wrong even before anyone says anything. They're a week overdue, still on their way back to earth, and Clark is acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual. He's  _ always _ been unusual, and Bruce has  _ always _ chalked it up to him being a Kryptonian, but the more he's around Clark the more he suspects that it's just because he was born on an honest to god farm and seemed to go out of his way to avoid people for most of his formative years.

But Bruce isn't going to stand for it. He's not going to stand for Clark just locking himself in his room and refusing to interact with anyone.If something's wrong, he needs to  _ tell _ someone, because if Clark comes out turned half-parademon or something else that disastrous, Bruce isn't sure they're going to be able to stop him in such close quarters.

Clark doesn't answer when Bruce knocks on the door. In fact, he makes no noise at all. He's completely, perfectly silent, which either means he's actually holding his breath to hide or he's actually snuck out.

Neither option is good, so Bruce simply bypasses the ship's security to let himself in.

The  _ smell _ hits him immediately. There's something strange and almost metallic about it, but the second thing he thinks of is  _ musk _ . Like Clark's been working out for days and the entire room smells of his sweat. It's practically a wall, but he steps inside, the door sliding shut behind him automatically.

Clark is in bed. Bruce can't see him, but he can see the lump in the sheets, the way it's gone perfectly still as if hoping Bruce will somehow fail to notice the more than six foot tall man hiding under the covers.

"Clark," he says. "You need to tell me what's wrong."

Bruce isn't going to pretend that something isn't wrong. Something is  _ obviously _ wrong. And they're supposed to be teammates, which means that he  _ should have told them _ . Clark needs medical help and instead of getting it he's sulking in his room, trying to tough it out.

"You can't be here," Clark says, and his voice sounds breathy.

"I can," Bruce says. "And I am. Tell me what's happening."

Clark makes a noise so unusual that it throws Bruce off. It's equal parts animalistic and desperate, a  _ whine _ torn from his throat by... by what?

"Clark," he says. "Tell me what's wrong."

Clark makes another whine, and Bruce steps over to the bed.

What little he can see of Clark doesn't look good. His body is soaked with sweat, and when Clark turns to him his pupils are blown wide. The look on his face is particularly unpleasant, like he's staring at something he wants to eat, and Bruce momentarily reconsiders his proximity.

"Heat," Clark says. "It's a heat. We were supposed to be back."

Bruce's brain catches, just for a moment.  _ He's too hot? _ He thinks, his brain slow to catch on. Then his brain  _ actually _ catches on, realizes that it doesn't make sense for what he just said. Not  _ too hot _ . It's  _ a heat _ .

"Like... like a dog?" Bruce asks, very nearly stunned to silence.

Clark makes a choked little laugh.

"Like a dog," Clark says.

Bruce reshuffles everything he knows about Kryptonian biology in short order.

"This is... are you... a - are you a  _ female _ Kryptonian?" Bruce says, trying to wrap his head around the dynamics of it. None of it makes sense with what he knows. He's not an expert in goddamn  _ animal mating dynamics _ , but he's entirely sure that Titus never had this issue.

Clark reaches out, grabbing at Bruce's wrist. He's fast, too fast to dodge in such close quarters, but Bruce holds himself still anyway. Clark's burning up, and even the skin of his palm feels like he's running a fever as he gives a needy whine.

"Another sign of Kryptonian descent," Clark says. "That men started presenting as omegas, and women started presenting as alphas."

He lets out a choked laugh.

"Just... tell me what I need to do," Bruce says. Whether or not it makes sense doesn't matter right then. What matters right then is easing Clark's way. Stopping the hot-to-the-touch burn of his skin.

"Fuck me," Clark says, and his voice is so desperate and needy. "Fuck me and knot me."

Bruce has a choice. He knows he has a choice, because Clark is desperate and so obviously in need, but he also knows that if he pulled away--even with Clark's hand on his wrist--Clark would let him go.

But he can't leave him there to burn up alone, so he slips into the bed beside him. Clark's even hotter up close, the smell thick in the air.

"Bruce," Clark keens. "Bruce, alpha,  _ please _ ."

Bruce reaches out, realizing very quickly that Clark is completely naked under the sheets. He regrets not undressing to begin with, because Clark is pressing close to him and making undressing difficult.

"Clark," he says, getting no reaction, no sign of acknowledgment as Clark tries to pull him closer. " _ Clark _ ," he says again, trying to make his voice sound as commanding as possible.

It works, and Clark's wide eyes look up at him.

He takes advantage of the pause to peel his top off, but Clarks already there, peppering kisses across his chest and making pathetic, needy sounds even as Bruce tries to get his pants off.

When Bruce is  _ finally _ naked, Clark is right there in record time. He presses up against him, and the insides of Clark's thighs are  _ soaked _ with something a lot slicker than just sweat.

" _ Clark _ ," Bruce murmurs. "You're leaking."

"Slick," Clark says, rubbing his face across Bruce's neck as if seeking something that isn't there. "You don't have to prepare me, I'm ready, just push it in,  _ please _ ."

Bruce is pretty sure he should be more careful. He's pretty sure he should be taking it slow. But he's also fairly confident that if he goes any slower Clark's going to just push him over and do everything himself, and he  _ needs _ to be in charge, because if Clark  _ really _ loses control of himself, Bruce is going to be in big trouble.

He remembers the tone of voice he tried, and does it again.

"Turn over," he says, putting as much edge into his voice as he can and watching as Clark immediately rolls under the sheets, pressing back, up against Bruce.

"Please please please," Clark chants, and Bruce reaches down, stroking himself to full mast. It's not hard, considering the smell and how lewd Clark is acting in front of him, but even the few moments it takes are too much for Clark, who practically  _ wails _ , grinding back against him.

Clark is right though. He's so covered in slick that when Bruce pushes in--no lubrication, no prep--he goes in easily. Clark wails again, his litany of  _ pleases _ increasing in speed as he immediately starts to rock back against Bruce.

Which is bad. Because Clark is  _ too goddamn strong _ and he's going to fuck Bruce out of the bed if he's not careful, so Bruce grabs Clark's hips, squeezing with all his strength, and growls in his ear.

"Stop," he says. "I'm the one in charge."

It works, because Clark goes still, letting Bruce set the pace instead. There's nothing soft about it, and Bruce uses every bit of his strength, trying to give Clark what he so desperately needs. He's sure he's not strong enough. He's sure it's not  _ really _ what Clark needs. There's a lot of anatomy at play that makes him wonder how satisfying being with him can even be for Clark. But it's better than being by himself, and the noises Clark is making are absolutely obscene.

"Bruce, knot me, please please knot me."

He has no idea how the hell he's going to do that. He doesn't have a  _ knot _ . He knows the theory, but that's doesn't suddenly give him a whole new dick. But Clark is begging for it, and when he leans forward, biting at Clark's neck--more for the pressure than anything, because Bruce sure as hell can't pierce his skin--there are tears in Clark's eyes.

"Please knot me," Clark begs, and Bruce realizes that he's actually  _ crying _ , his frustration so intense.

He's just going to have to make do.

Bruce bites at his neck again, snapping his hips forward, and lets himself finish inside. Clark  _ keens _ again, begging for a knot that Bruce doesn't have, and Bruce pulls out, shifting position as fast as he can. He's not sure if it's going to work, but it's the only thing he's got, so he pulls his hand tightly together, trying to make it as narrow as possible before pressing it up against Clark's hole and pressing in.

It's a surreal experience watching his hand slide into Clark's ass, watching it just disappear up to the wrist. There's so much slick that it takes only a bit of pressure to manage, and Clark doesn't even seem to  _ notice _ in his desperation.

And then Bruce shifts the position of his hand, squeezing it into a fist. A nice big ball, too large to fit through Clark's entrance as things stand.

Clark  _ screams _ , clenching down on Bruce's hand so hard that Bruce is pretty sure his entire hand is going to be bruised in the morning, and cums all over himself. Bruce doesn't understand he can come so  _ much _ , but almost thirty seconds later, Clark's cock is still twitching and leaking fluid. Bruce reaches around, giving him a few strokes, and Clark keens again, whimpering at the overstimulation.

He lets Clark come down from it slowly, his fist still lodged in place, and he presses kisses to Clark's back, the position awkward. His hand aches. His  _ wrist _ aches. But Clark seems to be calming down, the heat no longer half as obvious as it was.

"Bruuuce..." Clark whimpers. He sounds exhausted, but also for more like himself. "What... what's inside me?"

"My fist," Bruce says. "I don't have... what you need. So I made do."

Clark makes a little choked noise.

"Just... just leave it in there for a bit," Clark says. "Just a few more minutes. Just... just let me ride it out."

Bruce does, wondering all the while how the hell he's going to explain his poor misused hand to everyone  _ else _ . When he finally withdraws it, there's signs of obvious bruising already, even if mercifully nothing's actually  _ broken _ .

Clark rolls over, wrapping his arms around Bruce's sides and pulling him in close. It's unexpected--the worst of the heat's obviously over--but that doesn't stop Clark from being affectionate, peppering kisses along Bruce's face and neck.

"You should have told someone," Bruce says.

"Tell them what?" Clark says. "That I'm so desperate for stimulation I'd already tried humping the bed frame?"

"That you needed  _ help _ ," Bruce says. "So someone could come... do this."

Bruce pauses, weighing his options.

"Hal could have-"

"I don't want  _ Hal _ ," Clark says. "I was going to just... endure it."

Hal would have been perfect. The ring would have solved all the issues that Bruce's hand done, only without anyone getting hurt. But the way Clark's nuzzling into his neck makes it fairly obvious that Hal wasn't what he wanted, and after a moment Bruce wraps an arm around Clark's back, pulling him closer.

"How often does this happen?" Bruce asks.

"Every four months," Clark says. "For a week. I just make an excuse to be away during those times."

Hold on.

For a  _ week _ ?

"Is this going to happen  _ again _ ?" Bruce asks, alarmed. "This week?"

Clark nuzzles against him, eyes shut.

"Probably tomorrow," Clark says. "Or the day after that, if I can... if I can really hold out."

Bruce isn't sure he has enough hands for this.


End file.
